


Help Us See Much Better In The Dark

by ziennajames



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bucky has no idea what he's doing, Gen, M/M, Meet-Cute, Sickfic, Steve doesn't deserve this shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 17:10:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3577359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziennajames/pseuds/ziennajames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve clenches his eyes shut, turns around and starts to run, two things happen simultaneously: a door down the hall opens, and Steve runs right into it.</p><p>Today is not turning out to be his day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help Us See Much Better In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swansaresinging](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swansaresinging/gifts).



> The challenge was for something a little heavier on the smut, but it turned out a meet-cute with emphasis on the cute. I hope you enjoy it anyway, Anna!

The thing is, Steve has never been one for the typical college lifestyle. He hadn’t let himself get talked into anything while still at highschool - well, in the last few months when people were starting to get interested in hanging out with him anyway, once he’d grown past being a skinny runt and out of the worst of his asthma, and fine, there was one time where he’d crashed a party. He hadn't exactly planned to change that at college.

And he hadn’t. He’s been good and he’s studied his ass off to get his all general requirements out of the way and he managed to get himself into minimal trouble only, if you insisted on counting that one time he jumped between a girl and her all too eager drunk frat boy admirer who just wouldn’t take no for an answer. Or that time when he tripped a guy for being extremely rude to his regular barista. It wasn't his fault that both of those had ended up in fisticuffs and him being thrown out the establishment, really, and he’d considered freshman year a reasonable success up till now.

And that’s why Steve Rogers, age 19, doesn't think he deserves to end his night slumped against the closed door of his own damn dorm room a little after 1AM while trying to glare a burning hole in the mockingly dangling sock half-covering the doorknob directly above him.

It has little purple arrows. It probably deserves being set on fire. He viciously hopes the other sock will get stuffed into a mouth soon so he can at least nap till their noisy little private party is over.

(It either doesn’t, or Clint is louder than expected. Maybe he took his hearing aids out and doesn’t even notice. Steve really doesn't think he wants to know.)

Trying to nap in the hall, it turns out, is the most horrible, terrible idea he’s ever had. An hour in, his back is acting up, his neck is too stiff to properly turn, and his backside feels like it’s both frozen and made out of soaked cardboard. Also, backpacks do not a comfortable pillow make. Inside, the activity level still seems to be moderate to high going by the sounds of a muffled scuffle coming through the door, and Steve sighs.

Sleeping in his own bed apparently isn't going to be an option any time soon without intervention.

Great.

Because it isn't like a solid week of midterm preparation already has him on the brink of exhaustion before he’s even taken his first test of the semester, or like he hasn’t really been looking forward to falling into bed after spending all day in a stuffy library. Steve is an adult, and he is not upset, and he does not curse his roommate out loud, but he would very much like to be able to walk tomorrow.

Which means that he has to get up, open the door, kick out whoever’s in there, ignore any and all sad whining noises Clint may make at him, and then he can go back to sleep in a place that’s actually meant for sleeping.

Plans rarely go as they should. There’s screaming involved.

* * *

 

When Steve clenches his eyes shut, turns around and starts to run, two things happen simultaneously: a door down the hall opens, and Steve runs right into it.

Today is not turning out to be his day.

* * *

 

When Steve comes to, a worried face stares down at him, blinking. Steve blinks right back.

“You were yelling,” the face tells him. It swims in and out of focus a little, blurring at the edges. “You ran into my door. Sorry for that, I opened it to check what the yelling was about and, well…” The face smiles.

It’s a very nice face, Steve thinks. Dark hair, light eyes. He reaches up to touch it. A hand grabs his wrist before it almost pokes the face anywhere it could do damage, curling it and settling it down on Steve’s chest. The hand is nice, warm. Steve blinks again and feels his face curl into a smile.

“You’re really out of it, aren't you,” the face says quietly, and Steve nods. It sends a shot of pain through the side of his head and he groans. The face starts swimming again.

“Easy there.” The hand moves from his wrist to the side of his head, steadying it. “I, ah, I hope your head doesn’t hurt too much? You weren't out long, just a few seconds, you fell down and, I just, I don’t know how to handle a concussion or anything, so,” the face coughs. “You’ll be alright, right? Don’t, ah, don’t nod again, just, wait.” The face and the hand disappear and there’s some shuffling noises where the room tapers off into the dark and Steve can’t see anymore.

He scrunches his eyes shut and breathes in deeply. Taking inventory, he notices he’s lying down. Soft, so not the floor, probably a bed. Not his bed, but at this point any bed will do. All he wants to do right now is sleep and forget about the visuals he’s been exposed to in the last few minutes, excluding the face, because the face is nice and therefore allowed to stay.

Beside him, the bed dips. “You, ah, it says here you’re not supposed to sleep? If you have a concussion, I mean, I think… Oh man, I’m terrible at this. Nodding was bad, right,” the face says, and hastily adds, “Don’t nod!”

Steve opens his eyes to a squint and groans a little in answer. There’s a brightly lit screen just in front of him.

“Headache, right. Are you nauseous, ringing ears?” The face swims a little less by now. The extra light helps him focus. It really is very handsome, and Steve’s maybe a little worried that he seems stuck on that point, but the voice talking to him is very soothing and he can’t be bothered to do anything else but lay down where’s been put and be babbled at amusingly for now. “Do you know what happened?”

“Am fine. Remember things. Don’t wanna talk about it,” Steve mumbles. The face sighs, looking and sounding relieved, and puts the phone down on the sheets, taking the source of light with it.

“So not a concussion, according to WebMD anyway, as far as that goes. I’m not in pre-med, don’t think anyone in this building does pre-med or I would've gotten them, get you checked over. I don’t even think we have -” Steve smiles and the voice stutters. “Uh, we have, I’m Bucky? Barnes. You, ah, we hadn’t met. Yet.”

The face, _Bucky_ , is in reasonable levels of in focus now, and it looks flustered even in the low light. It’s not a bad sort of view. Steve smiles wider. “Steve.”

“Steve. Right.” Bucky smiles back at him. “Sorry for,” he gestures to the room around him. “My roommate’s asleep, heavy sleeper, I’m not. You can stay here, if you want, if you need someone to check in on you tonight, but I'm going to make you share the bed because it’s mine, so.” Bucky coughs and twists. “Don’t take up much space,” he jokes, “only got one arm.”

Steve agrees. He’s out within seconds.

* * *

 

It’s still dark when Steve briefly wakes up, and he’s surprisingly warm and comfortable. In his sleep he’s curled up, tangling up his arms and legs into the blankets and something heavier. He doesn't think about what before falling back asleep.

The second time Steve wakes up it’s light out, and the unfamiliar surroundings make him aware that he both has a pounding headache and a pounding otherwise pressing into something too warm and solid to be a pillow or a bundle of blankets.

A something that happens to be a someone. Who’s awake. And looking at him. And who has very, very nice eyes in daylight.

Steve swallows. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Nice Eyes says back. “Remember me?”

No. Maybe. “Yes?”

“You walked into my door last night and passed out in front of my room, caught you before you hit the floor and could damage yourself any further.” Nice Eyes smiles. It looks nice on him, crinkling the edges of his eyes and softening his face. “You didn't seem to have a concussion or anything last night, but, ah, you okay now?” He frowns and bites his lip. “The article said you need to wake folk with a concussion up every few hours, just in case, but you seemed fine and I didn't, well, you looked like you could use the sleep.”

Steve stares.

“You _do_ remember me, right?” Nice Eyes tenses. “‘Cause else I’m just gonna feel like a giant creeper or something, been awake for a bit and didn’t know if I could get out of bed without waking you up, and uh. Sorry. For that. Yeah.” He shifts uncomfortably. “I’m just gonna get out, now you’re awake. So if you could just -”

“Bucky, right?” Steve says, and Bucky relaxes heavily against him. “Thanks. For last night.”

“‘S fine. Head fine?”

“Headache. Had worse.” He pauses. “Sorry for, you know. Guess I won at getting dramatically sexiled just before I walked into your door.”

Bucky laughs, loudly. “ _That_ was what you were screaming about?”

It’s very easy for Steve to push him out of the bed. Bucky only laughs harder.

 

* * *

 

  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Special mention to my headcanon anon, who send me the ['what if Steve got sexiled'](http://capspatrioticpecs.tumblr.com/post/104574262761) prompt at the start of December last year, and everyone who reblogged it for some reason in the past few weeks so it pinged on my radar again. If I had to pick any au's, it'd be [one out of that tag](http://capspatrioticpecs.tumblr.com/tagged/hc_anon_tag). Title is from [The Wombat's 'Kill The Director'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X_2h0SmVUws), because I had the song on repeat for 6 hours while writing this and the dramatic irony of Steve not watching where he's going amuses me.
> 
> Did I mention I have a [tumblr](http://capspatrioticpecs.tumblr.com/) yet? (I did.)


End file.
